


Something

by dilemmaed



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Book 1: Chain of Gold, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, London Shadowhunter Institute, M/M, POV alastair carstairs, Post-Book 1: Chain of Gold, Spoilers for Book 1: Chain of Gold, Teen Angst, The Clave (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Thomastair, alastair is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:42:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilemmaed/pseuds/dilemmaed
Summary: [SPOILERS FOR CHAIN OF GOLD]He couldn’t stop seeing it.The way Thomas’s golden pallor had gone grey, the way his kind eyes had flashed with betrayal, the way his fists had clenched, his jaw had jumped. Gentle Thomas, who had once been so small, so sickly, had become every bit the predator his stature suggested him to be.He couldn’t stop hearing the growl of the other man’s voice as he’d spoke to Alastair, his eyes swirling with rage.“You are not who I thought you were.”ORSeven weeks after the events of James and Cordelia's engagement party, Alastair finds himself alone in a room with Thomas for the first time since they worked on the demon poison antidote together.Alastair yearns for a way to make things right, to atone for his sins.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Thomas Lightwood, Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 10
Kudos: 205





	Something

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!
> 
> Long time no see, but I'm back with another one shot! 
> 
> This is my first fic in this fandom and I've been working on and off on it for a long time! Pretty much since Chain of Gold came out lol! I just couldn't get these two out of my head and I couldn't wait until next March to see what happens between them, so at the behest of two of my friends I wrote this!
> 
> Since I'm mad about the way things were left off in Chain of Gold, here is my take on Thomas and Alastair's first civil conversation since James and Cordelia's engagement party. 
> 
> Sadly, since Chain of Iron takes place in winter, I'm sure it's much longer than seven weeks since they last interacted, but lets pretend.
> 
> This is unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Thomas hadn’t looked at Alastair once since he’d entered the room forty-five minutes ago. 

He hadn’t looked at Alastair in weeks.

Not since his sister’s engagement party six weeks ago.

And Alastair had kept his distance, too. He’d kept his head down, for the most part, staying away from Herondale’s bunch, from the Institute if he could help it. He didn’t want to upset Thomas any more that he already had.

But he had to be here now, a mandatory Enclave meeting for all active Shadowhunters in London, trying to figure out how to address the increased volume of demon activity in the city and the Greater Demon that had attacked the West End on Tuesday night, killing two mundanes. Charles was up there speaking, back straightened, gesturing his hand with self-imposed importance. Alastair could hardly keep himself from rolling his eyes. He hadn’t spoken to Charles since that night either, and he intended to keep it that way. Charles would never love Alastair more than he did politics, and because of that, he would never love him openly, not in the way that Alastair wanted to be loved. He didn’t want to be someone’s dirty secret, squandered away in favor of a wife Charles didn’t love. It wasn’t worth it.

He was trying to focus on the meeting, on the words coming out of Charles’s familiar mouth, but his eyes kept straying across the room to where Thomas Lightwood stood, leaning against the wall, muscular arms crossed along his chest. He was very pointedly  _ not _ looking at Alastair, balancing his focus between Charles and the marble floor. There was a tension in his body, Alastair could see, a stark comparison to Fairchild, who looked so relaxed that he might slide down the wall onto the floor at any given moment. Alastair could bet with almost complete certainty that he was sauced. Thomas’s jaw was clenched, listening to whatever Fairchild was whispering in his ear somewhat intently. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, knocking a tense shoulder against the blond’s. 

Though Thomas hadn’t chanced a glance at Alastair, Fairchild had practically snarled at him like a guard dog, warning him away with a single glare. It wasn’t needed though, because, as much as Alastair wished to speak to Thomas, to look up into those hazel eyes, he wasn’t going to go near him. He would atone for what he’d done to Thomas.

What he’d done, what he’d said was horrible and he didn’t fault Thomas for being angry with him. He’d caused his family pain, and Alastair, more than most, knew what it was like to have a family burdened by shame and speculation. He’d known all his life, yet he’d done it anyway. To save himself. 

Yet, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way Thomas’s golden pallor had gone grey, the way his kind eyes had flashed with betrayal, the way his fists had clenched, his jaw had jumped. Gentle Thomas, who had once been so small, so sickly, had become every bit the predator his stature suggested him to be.

He couldn’t stop hearing the growl of the other man’s voice as he’d spoke to Alastair, his eyes swirling with rage.

“ _ You are not who I thought you were. _ ”

Each word was like a bolt straight to his heart. He had actually  _ staggered _ back as if Thomas had struck him, his mouth going dry, knowing nothing he could say that would make any of it better. So he had run away, like the coward he was. 

He deserved it, he knew. He deserved the sharp words, the piercing glare, all of it. But that didn’t mean that his heart ached any less. Besides Cordelia, Thomas had been the only person to ever make him feel like he was worth a damn, that he was more than the cold exterior he so often took on, that he was someone worth knowing, worth speaking to. Once, Charles had been on that short list, but in the latter months, he’d only served to make him feel even more insubstantial.

When Thomas spoke to Alastair, when he  _ looked _ at him, his attention was overwhelming, almost as much a physical presence as Thomas’s unforgiving height. He had a way of making Alastair feel as though they were the only two people in the world. The obliging expression in his eyes made Alastair feel as if what he had to say was important, the most important thing Thomas had ever heard. It made him want to tell Thomas all of his secrets. Sharing a glance with him, a word or two, felt more intimate than the hours he’d spent in bed with Charles.

But now, it was likely he’d never get the chance to even apologize, to look into Thomas’s eyes at all, let alone see anything but utter disdain hidden in them. Not that any apology might make up for what he’d said, what he’d done to hurt Thomas’s family, for the tears shed by his mother, the shame of his father and sisters. 

“Alastair,” A voice called, snapping him out of his reverie. 

It was Cordelia, a delicate hand on his shoulder, the Herondale ring standing out against her brown skin. It had been six weeks, but he was still not used to seeing it there. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. 

Alastair’s eyes met his sister’s, noting the concern laced in the deep brown, so like his own. “Hmm?”

“It’s over,” she said.

Alastair glanced about the room, only now noting that more than half of the Enclave members had filed out at some point or another. He hadn’t even realized that Charles stopped speaking. So much for paying attention. 

_ Fuck _ .

His shock must have been visible on his face because Cordelia’s hand tightened on his shoulder, her voice low as she asked, “Are you alright, Alastair?”

_ No, I’m not, Cordelia. I haven’t been for weeks now, _ he thought. 

He assumed that Fairchild or Lucie Herondale hadn’t said a lick about what happened at the engagement party, otherwise Cordelia wouldn’t be speaking to him either. For that, he was grateful.

He swallowed, “Yeah.” 

Cordelia gave him an odd look, but said nothing else, only nodded her head. She would probably chew him out for it later, when they got home, but for now, she left well enough alone.

“Cordelia,” Herondale called from across the near-empty room. His sister gave him a pointed look, begrudgingly breaking their eye contact to address her intended. 

“To the Devil?” James asked, hopeful, a dimpled smile crossing his face. Fairchild had managed to stay upright as he detached himself from the wall, managing to walk to where Herondale stood without anything other than his expression giving away his drunken state. It uneased Alastair how much Fairchild could manage imbibe without the showing telltale signs of the thoroughly sloshed. It reminded him of his father more than he’d like to admit.

Cordelia smiled at her fiancé softly, nodding. “Yes, of course. One moment.” She looked back to Alastair, gave him a meaningful look and a squeeze on the shoulder, then strode away to the boys that awaited her. Oh yes, he was  _ definitely  _ getting cornered about this later.

There were only a few left in the room, Thomas among them, his presence a noose around Alastair’s neck, an everlasting reminder. He was standing closer now, much closer, listening to Christopher titter away about something. He was motioning wildly with his hands and Alastair could only guess what they were talking about. 

He took a step forward, shoving his hands into his pockets.  _ God _ , he had to get out of here before he did something stupid.

Just as he made to move out of the room, Christopher clapped a hand on Thomas’s shoulder, abandoning the taller man in favor of Henry Fairchild, who was talking animatedly to his eldest son from his Bath chair. Charles’s expression was one of mild interest at best, but was placating his father nonetheless. Henry, spotting Christopher, gained a brighter smile, addressing his prot é g é. From that, Alastair watched as Charles took his leave, murmuring softly to his father, a mollifying sound, before linking his arm with that of Grace Blackthorn, who stood in the room as if she were a piece of furniture, rather than a human being. Charles led her out of the room, their fingers entwined ever so carefully.  _ Coward _ , Alastair thought. 

Alastair had barely ripped his eyes away from Charles’s retreating frame when he noticed Christopher leading Henry toward the doorway as well, a curious grin stuck on his face, an expression of brilliance and discovery. Alastair only hoped Henry had the good sense not to let Christopher blow anything up unless it was the whole of Charles’s bedroom.

It only took him a moment–one moment–to realize that he was the only one left in the room, save a single person. But of course, how could he  _ not _ notice Thomas Lightwood? 

In addition to his recent growth in stature, Thomas commanded a certain presence in a room, a power that Alastair wasn’t sure that Thomas knew he had, but it captivated Alastair in a way that Charles never had. It made him want to stare, to move closer, to beg and kiss Thomas until he forgave him. He fisted his hand at his side, taking in a tight breath through his nose.

From the corner of his eye, Alastair could see Thomas, still standing in the same spot. He was looking down at the floor, fiddling with something in his pocket. If he noticed Alastair’s presence in the room still, if he had noticed that everyone else had left, he didn’t let on. He looked utterly lost in thought, save for a tick in one side of his jaw. 

Alastair pried his gaze from the other man, forcing himself to keep his eyes forward, to stare at the now-empty doorway. It wasn’t far, only a few meters away and he knew that if he stayed here any longer, he would only serve to embarrass himself more than he had done so already.

Alastair took a step toward the door, his shoes clicking, echoing against the bounds of the empty room. He didn’t want it to be this damn  _ hard _ to walk away. With every second that passed, with every inch between them, Alastair could feel the cracks within him deepening, his chest collapsing. He wasn’t sure how many more feet, how many more seconds of silence it would take to make him shatter.

He didn’t make it another step before he heard a creak. Alastair’s head snapped up, eyes falling to the only other person in the room. Thomas still wasn’t looking at him, but he seemed to have realized what happened–or at least, decided to do something about it. His frame was wracked with obvious tension, every tall inch of him strung up, moving as if he were one of Mortmain’s old automatons.

For a moment, Alastair’s heart jumped in his chest as Thomas began to move across the room. He thought, for a fleeting moment, that Thomas might approach him, that he might say something, but he only strode by, not sparing a single glance Alastair’s way as he did. He wasn’t sure what it was–whether it was Thomas’s lingering scent or his crumbling strength–but his feet were moving before his brain could process the action.

They were almost through the hallway, almost out of the small bubble of privacy they had been trapped in, by the time Thomas was close enough to touch. Alastair could smell his sweet scent once again, heartbeat rushing in his ears as he reached out his hand.

“Thomas,” the word, barely a whisper, was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Abruptly, Thomas stopped, enough so that Alastair had to dig his heels into the ground to stop himself from running into the other man. He stopped his hand a hair’s breadth from Thomas’s, crumpling his fingers into a fist, not daring himself to look into the hazel eyes that awaited him.

Thomas’s head was bowed, as it almost always was–his stature made it difficult to look people eye to eye without having to cast his eyes downward. His shoulders were slumped, but still managed to look strained against the fabric of his silk dress shirt. 

The last time they were this close, Alastair had been assisting Thomas with the demon poison antidote almost seven weeks ago. He remembered the nervous concentration on Thomas’s face as he’d worked, the way the expression had transformed into a grin that seemed to light up the whole of London when he’d gotten it right. He remembered the triumphant embrace they’d shared then, the way Thomas’s arms had tightened around Alastair’s smaller frame, Alastair’s face pressed into the crook of Thomas’s neck due to the awkwardness of their height difference. Alastair could swear he still felt the shadow of that embrace now, of the feeling of his face so close to Thomas’s neck, close enough to smell the scent of his cologne, the sweat that lingered on him in the heat of Henry’s Fairchild’s laboratory. It had been inebriating. 

Thomas said nothing, but neither did Alastair, for the moment anyway. He only stood there, berating himself for being idiotic enough to say something. He had never given thought to the idea that Thomas might  _ actually _ stop. 

What could he do, what could he say to make this better?

“I–,” he started, his voice hoarse, breathless. Swallowing, he tried again, “I-I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

Still, Thomas said nothing.

“T-there’s nothing I can say, Lightwood, that might make this better.”

Thomas snorted, a sound that was more like Fairchild than himself. It was enough to make Alastair look up, to bring his hand back to his side. 

As he raised his eyes, Alastair could swear the whole world paused, millions of breaths hanging unfinished in the evening air. Thomas’s hazel eyes were glowing in the low lighting of the corridor. There was anger simmering behind his irises, not noticeable unless you took care to study the finer details of Thomas’s expressions. His mouth was flattened into a line, expressionless, his jaw jumping in restraint. Finally meeting his eyes, Alastair felt as if he might collapse under the weight of such intense focus.

“You see,” Alastair said, running a hand through his dark hair, “I’m very bad at this.”

The sound of Thomas’s melodic voice made Alastair jump, “Bad at what, exactly?”

Alastair had to look away, “Truth, sincerity, apologies,” he listed on his fingers, “take your pick. The list goes on.”

A pause. He allowed his eyes to find Thomas’s again, “I know there’s nothing I can do. I know I can’t take back what I did to you, to your family. I know apologizing isn’t good enough; it doesn’t erase what I said, doesn’t erase what your family went through, but it’s all I can do.

“I’m so sorry, Thomas. I can only hope that one day, you might forgive me.”

Thomas’s expression was unreadable as he spoke, only deepening the worrisome abyss opening up in Alastair’s stomach. Alastair’s eyes trailed to Thomas’s throat as he visibly swallowed. 

“I can’t say it’s alright, because it’s not,” Alastair felt his heart crack, felt it sink in his chest as Thomas spoke, “My parents suffered because you spread that rumor. My mother struggles enough on her own without such a thing to harm her reputation. She didn’t deserve that; she’s the kindest person I ever met. I can’t just forget that it happened.

“I-I thought you were different than this–better than this. Despite the things my friends said about you, I never believed that you had the capability to do something truly cruel. You broke my heart, Alastair, and you shattered my perception of who you are. I can’t unsee that–I can’t.”

Thomas’s shoulders slumped further as he finished speaking, as if all of the energy was draining out of him. His hand was shaking, and, as he noticed Alastair’s eyes on him, he clenched it tight into a fist, veins visible under his tattooed skin.

“You build me up in your head, Thomas,” he said, gesturing, “you think me better than I am. I am not that man–far from it, actually. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but that–that might be my greatest one. For what I’ve done, you should never speak to me again; you should probably punch me in the face, if I’m being honest.” 

Thomas let out a derisive laugh, but Alastair pressed on before he lost his nerve.

“You’re so much better than I, and you deserve much, much more than I can offer. I am not perfect, and I’ll probably never be the man you thought I was, but I’ll strive to be him. I do not wish to disappoint you further.”

He paused for a moment. “In fact, it’s the last thing I ever wanted. I want to be better than I am. I want to be someone worthy of you, Thomas,” he said, burrowing his hands into his pockets. 

He didn’t let his gaze stray from the other man’s face. Alastair could feel his cheeks heat as he spoke, could feel himself beginning to ramble, to trip over his words. 

“I was an arse, I know. I’m not expecting you to forgive me, or for things to be okay–the way they were before. I know it was selfish of me to even speak to you, especially since you made your wishes plain, but I needed to–”

Before he could finish, a pair of lips met his own, unsuspecting.

All of the breath seemed to disappear from his lungs at that moment, leaving him gasping against Thomas’s mouth. He curled his fingers into the other man’s silk shirt, tangling them within the fabric for just a single ounce of strength, enough to keep him standing.

His head was spinning with the warmth of Thomas’s lips against his skin, his hand curled at the nape of Alastair’s neck, in the strands of his hair. He wanted to capture the feeling in his chest, to trap it in a jar to examine and watch over later, but it was so dizzying, he could barely focus on anything other than all the places Thomas’s skin was touching his own. 

Alastair felt as if he was surrounded by Thomas; his scent, his heat. All of it was so  _ hot _ , so inebriating, he only wanted to melt into it and never release. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It made his knees buckle, his hand tightened in Thomas’s shirt, made him want to kiss the other man harder. 

Too soon, Thomas pulled away, leaving Alastair scrambling for breath.

Thomas’s grip on the back of his neck tightened for just a moment, his cheek ghosting over Alastair’s own, “You are an arse,” he said softly, “and I  _ don’t _ forgive you–I can’t, Alastair.”

Thomas released his grip and took a step back. Alastair felt his heart, still wildly beating, sink in his chest. 

“But,” Thomas said, his lips every bit as swollen as Alastair’s felt, “with time, I think I can come to trust you again. I thought about it a lot over the past few weeks, and despite what happened, what you did, a part of me can’t reconcile the thought of not having you in my life. I didn’t want to be wrong about you, Alastair. I only thought so much of you because I believe that you are a good person, because I care about you, probably more than I should.

“I’m still angry with you–”

“Then shout at me,” Alastair said, “I think anything is better than the silence.”

Thomas inclined his head in a nod, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ve missed you,” he said quietly.

Alastair’s breath caught at the words and it took him a moment to register, “I’ve missed you, too.”

Then, “you kissed me.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement, a truth.

“I did,” Thomas said, a hint of a blush creeping up on his cheekbones. He sounded as if he didn’t really believe it himself.

Alastair felt himself holding back a soft smile at Thomas’s tone, despite everything.

They were silent for a moment, neither man meeting the other’s eye, simply dancing around each other. It was Thomas who eventually broke their heavy silence.

“I have to go,” Thomas said, “my friends will be waiting for me.”

For an instant, he just looked at Thomas. His shirt was skewed, his hair in slight disarray, giving him somewhat of a rumpled appearance, but he still looked elegant. A small part of Alastair hoped that Thomas’s swollen lips wouldn’t go down by the time he met his friends. He liked the thought of having some sort of concrete, lasting evidence of their kiss, though he knew it would be gone soon enough, the only evidence in his memory. 

“I understand,” he said, waving off the reluctance in Thomas’s tone, “I probably should be on my way as well.”

Thomas nodded, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. 

Discarding his doubt for the moment, Alastair took two steps closed the gap between them, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to Thomas’s lips before he could really contemplate it. 

“I’ll see you,” he whispered.

Thomas brushed a strand of dark hair out of Alastair’s eyes, “I like it better this way,” he said, his voice thick as he studied the strand, “just so you know.”

Without another word, Thomas took a step back, meeting Alastair’s eyes for the briefest of moments, before turning on his heel to leave.

Watching Thomas’s retreating frame, Alastair stood there in the hall, raising a hand to touch his lips, still stinging. His mind was whirring, aching to follow Thomas out, to kiss him again, but he didn’t want to press his luck. He’d had made no promises and Alastair knew that if he allowed himself to get his hopes up, his heart might shatter for good, but it didn’t stop his thoughts from returning to the way Thomas’s lips felt against his own, his hand in his hair.

It was more than he had before, more than he had ever expected from Thomas after all he’d done. He was scared of what might happen now that Thomas was giving him a second chance, a chance he didn’t deserve. He clung to it, to the idea that Thomas might trust him again, might forgive him, more desperately than he had ever clung to Charles. He wouldn’t throw it away–he couldn’t.

He didn’t know where they stood, him and Thomas, whether they could be friends or something more, but this was a start. 

It was hope.

It was  _ something _ .

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story and please, please don't hesitate to leave comments or Kudos; I love hearing feedback from my readers!
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr for writing updates, etc at dilemma-ed!
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, go check out my other works, including five All For The Game one shots and my dramione war fic, To The Fallen!
> 
> If you want to see me write more Thomastair or TSC in general feel free to leave a comment or a message in my ask on Tumblr with prompts and suggestions!
> 
> I'm working on some other one shots right now that will hopefully be up soon and (finally) a new chapter of To The Fallen!
> 
> Until next time,  
> Em :)


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